


The Mirage

by Witchly



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Feels, Gay, Lucio - Freeform, M/M, asra - Freeform, not my proudest witing, sad asra, the arcana - Freeform, this broke my heart and now i'm gonna break yours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 08:53:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15457707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witchly/pseuds/Witchly
Summary: Asra goes on yet another adventure. This time, it doesn't go as expected. Mature rating for sexual involvement. Prepare your tissues. And your heart.





	The Mirage

**Author's Note:**

> It is HIGHLY suggested that you listen to this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QxZojLOm0Sg as you read, for it will fit the mood of the written piece. I have a headcanon that Asra was inspired by Ancient Egypt/Egyptians and so I included some of that in this story. Ancient Egyptian history and culture, etc. is my passion and it always feels great to include it in writing. I hope you enjoy!

 

      

 

 Once more he vanished, a lone wolf of wanderlust.

 

 The young magi was more than incapable of neglecting the piece of him inside that longed for adventure. Just as if it were embedded within his nature, or even instinct — it was as if the Earth spoke to him, silent yet loud, drawing his heart to the sacredness of the desert sands. Oh, how he took delight in the feeling of the warm, grainy substance slipping through his toes, and the light current of wind blowing against him as he was leaving the nearest oasis. The sun’s rays painted him a lovely gold, a richer color than his birth given tan. He was made for this. He was made for his sun, this air, this sand, this life — to be a nomad again, to travel amongst a life of pleasure and danger; temptation was weakening. The rewards it bore would forever refresh him. The universe, vast, strewn of the many planets, stars, and galaxies there were, of all sorts of energies, created this moment just for him. What could be more blessed than that? It fashioned his being so right to cross a path of such beauty like no other. Not even the sea and moon could compare when it came to such paradise. He was sure to be the envy of many wishful travelers to experience such an ethereal enigma.

 

Nothing could feel more like home.

 

_He could remember some time ago, on another venture on whim, he encountered natives of this particular desert – though, much farther off at another oasis for travelers. They were golden as he was, and even darker, though their hair and eyes were dark as well in contrast to his own. They wore exuberant garments, with intricate patterns and textures, much like his as well; their eyes outlined with kohl. Whoever they were, he felt he knew them his entire life. These natives invited him into their home upon seeing him stuck in the sandstorm. Asra was not used to such weather, and even being a magi, he unsure of his abilities to withstand it. He was eternally grateful for the elderly couple who graced his presence at such a tricky time. Sheltered safely from the storm, he was offered dinner and a place to sleep until it let up. Asra was perplexed by the people’s trust in him – did they believe he was one of them? The wife had made such judgment upon getting to know him at dinner, as they drank beer and ate figs by dim lighting of the fire burning near. She was old, and so was her husband, who often catered to travelers in need as they stopped by the oasis._

_“How do you trust me so, Nefertari? You both let me into your humble abode, give me food and drink, and a place to slumber away from the dangers of the weather – where I live, no one would think to do such a thing.” Asra’s thumb ran across the rim of the clay cup, admiring the unique artwork and symbols it adorned, emptied of what was once filled with beer._

_“It is what we do, dear boy. Besides, we knew we could sense a kindred spirit the moment we found you. And we have a feeling you could even be one of us.” She replied, a gentle smile on her lips._

_He was dumbfounded by the response._

_One of them?_

After learning a plethora of ways to protect himself in the sun by the skillful natives, he took these useful techniques and put it into practice. He adorned kohl around his eyes, more lightweight garments, and a headdress to cool his head. Adopting the habits of the common native of the land was the only way he was able to survive much of the dangerous tests that were given to him underneath the watchful eye of the sun. Asra took a swig of his canteen, letting the drops of refreshing water trickle down his burning skin. His body was instantly overcome with great relief, coolness enveloping him for a fleeting moment. He wiped his mouth and chin clean with his sleeve, proceeding along his journey through the hot sands. He adjusted the scarf around his head, wrapping a little tighter as there a heavier breeze than before in which fought to blow it off of him. Secure enough, he closed the lid and placed his half full canteen into his satchel.

His mind wandered often to his apprentice. Oh, how he wondered how he was. The other man probably deemed it inequitable that Asra always took off at unforeseen times when the shop needed his assistance. And he could not be more right in his argument with that – Asra was being very iniquitous as a friend and housemate. Aside from Muriel, his apprentice was all he had. He was filled with regret leaving him behind with such trying responsibilities as the shop and even the murder case. How could a companion treat another as such? He took advantage of him, the only one he had that gave him the world. He was lucky, truly, for anyone else would have given him the boot. And that was it – he never knew his parents – not quite well, anyhow, nor any family of his. Vaguely, at most, did he remember his mother as a budding toddler, with long ivory tresses, and deep, captivating plum hued eyes as his. He vaguely remembered her gentle smile, and the everlasting familiar scent stuck to her – stuck to his memory – lavender. The only memory he could seemingly gather amongst the fuzziness of the rest was of her hair, nose buried within it, softly weeping into it for comfort. She was ambushed along with his father, reportedly, in their home. As the curious child he was, and in vivid yet broken recollection, he could remember how he got to that point. It was loud, booming voices dominating weaker, wavering ones. Next thing he knew, he was curled up against his mother dying body. His father was already beside her – dead. Their tattered clothes and blood was only a given to what was later revealed to him as murder and robbery. Thus became his transition into orphan-hood, and his life depended on hard work and endurance.

It was sunset.

Asra encountered yet another oasis, more miniscule in comparison to the one he made a pit stop at previously. He filled his canteen with more water and prepared his tent – with the aid of a little magic, of course. A humble little place for rest, was it not? For a few minutes, he observed the sun set with ease. He marveled at the wondrous, lurid colors, warm in the sky. There was gold, melting into pastels of rose and lilac – swallowing up the day. He could see the moon awaiting her time to shine in the distance – waiting to meet with her lover once again in the sky before parting. The very thought sent an ache through his heart. He could only think of his apprentice in that moment. But why, he wondered. In fact, it was the strangest notion to even remotely consider him in such a romantic way. Yet, perhaps it was anticipated. He gave up a piece of his heart for his life. It was most painful when he even knew his apprentice would not reciprocate those nagging feelings he held for him, even the pang of jealousy when he saw him with Ilya. He never truly spoke on how he felt. His mind was a very damaged place and he often kept it secret from everyone around him. Could anyone truly understand anyhow?

 

Oh, the things he’s felt and done.

 

_Shameful! Shameful, you are._

 

Asra struggled to shake off the feeling and distract his mind with some writing. The small voice in his mind again. He was uncertain it was even his own – he was a lot more secure than that, usually. Though, the exhaust was weighing upon him heavily, so he blamed the sleepiness and fatigue for his low spirits that evening, as body overruled mind. It became apparent that this was not the first time this instance of overwhelming emotion had occured, and this was his second day on travel in the desert. Once it was becoming darker, he pulled out some firewood. With a snap of his fingers, he was able to spark up a flame, setting the wood ablaze. Turning round, he crawled inside of his tent as humble bug, and comfortably sat about the mounds of his blankets and pillow, fishing out his journal from his satchel. He pulled out a pen and prepared to write about his thoughts and experiences of the day,

 

_Today was a bit more difficult than yesterday when I arrived, in regards to my thoughts. They’ve been all over the place. They have gone to my apprentice, to the shop and the murder case, my dislike for Ilya, memories of when I last visited this land, and even my parents. I have had something nagging at me lately. I can’t tell what it is lately, but it’s been driving me pretty mad. I’ve been wondering if it’s the heat, but if I had to really be honest with myself, I’ve felt this even long before I left Vesuvia. I have no one else to speak to on this, for my apprentice, I’m sure, would not want to hear these things. I prefer to handle these things on my own anyhow, it just sometimes becomes a hindrance to my enjoyment of things, and I fall into this spiral of being overwhelmed. Perhaps I will confide to him about my thoughts and feelings, though it is likely I will keep most of it to myself. Muriel maybe another I may confide in, as he is a good listener. I just loathe being a burden, even though we are rather close. Ah, I owe him so much. I’m greatly indebted to him as well for being a good companion in need. He’s done things to protect me. Even doing things to protect him as well could never fully repay his kindred efforts. Recently, I have found out that Lucio is still amongst the living; that he did not die. He is trying to become The Devil, as the one in my tarot deck. I’m still learning more about the case as it is from my apprentice, and will find out more, I’m sure, upon my return._

 

Asra closed his journal and placed it, along with the pen, back into his satchel. He absentmindedly rubbed his aquamarine pendant at the thought of Lucio. For some reason, after thinking about him, a strange fear, replacing his strong dislike toward him, craved over him. He could feel a dark energy surrounding him, like a ton of bricks weighing upon his shoulders. He let out a sigh once he was able to relax from the anxiety. His entire being desired slumber – and that was exactly what he was going to give to himself. He relished in the cool air as it filled his tent, pushing him to unwind, pulling a lightweight blanket over his exhausted form.

 

Moments later, he drifted off into a world of slumber.

 

The next evening had returned to Asra in a blink of an eye.

 

The sun was setting once more.

 

He took a bite of some pumpkin bread he brought with him from Vesuvia. An absolute favorite it was and one the least eccentric foods he enjoyed. The bread was sweet— and melted ever so right in his mouth; the sensual flavors gracing his tongue. He only brought what he could carry – bread, nuts, and water. Carrying a full course meal was not exactly ideal in the heat. And as long as he had sufficient sustenance to survive on, he was well off in appreciation for it. And he was not a hunter – especially of wildlife. He harbored a great compassion for animals, so it was not on his list of dietary need since he could live without it. Asra would be leaving the morning after, so an actual meal was anticipated when arriving home.

 

 _Home_.

 

The word was bittersweet.

 

And it stung, yet filled him with a strange warmth, overall leaving him a bitter aftertaste. Where was home? He adored the deserts, and even Vesuvia – yet it seemed as though his thirst was never quite quenched. There was something in him that never felt quite whole. The young magi decided to wait out his attempts for answers with the tarot, and instead, discover what he needed on his own for a change. Asra finished his bread and decided to relax, watching the sunset from within the tent. The feeling from the night before never really left regardless of where he went. After a small blessing on himself and prayer, along with wearing protective amulets, he should have felt better after the fact. He should have brought more magical tools with him – without figuring that he was better off without it and usually his natural abilities. There was no chiding himself about it now, however. He supposed roughing it out would have to suffice for the meantime instead of depending on magic to make himself feel more pleasant.

 Laying across the blankets, he sighed, with his head resting on his pillow. He did feel further tranquil after his bath in one of the other oasis’ from before. It refreshed his overheated body and Yet for now, Asra only wished to meditate, and seek out answers from the universe in a higher consciousness. He closed his eyes momentarily, taking a deep breath. A serene breeze blown into his tent, though, making him shudder immediately after. The energy made him feel instantly damp with sweat, a light sheen across his forehead. It was most difficult to decipher upon the origin of such a diabolical energy. There was a strike of sharpness in his mind, forcing him to open his eyes from the physical shock. He gasped out, holding his head, and rubbing his third eye. His thoughts ran amuck; could this have been a psychic attack? And if so, by who? He glanced back outside of his tent, watching the color in the sky deteriorate into blackness, gradually.

 From afar, he could see a form moving about across the sands. The silhouette was black, going about a sluggish pace. All he knew was thus far was music, though not very clear to him, was being performed. He listened closely. By the sounds of it, the being who played sounded rather professional. His mind was melting into the melody, his mind going blank, becoming unaware. The familiarity of the music, wordlessly so sensual and filled with mystery, dripping of milk and honey, filled his aching with a strange pleasure. And his eyes were growing heavy. He blinked, and then the form was gone.

           

It was gone?

 

_Gone?_

           

 Yet the music was there, as a siren, calling out to him by his name.

           

 How?

           

 It was silky, seductive, intimately conquering his consciousness, and leaving him, briefly, a feeble, dumb thing. What thoughts were now no longer could enter his conscious mind. Whatever registered, did in a process of slowness into his subconscious, and could not reach the consciousness of what his mind was in that moment. The sky was now in twilight, ready to cross into night; on the cusp of darkness. It was as if Asra was living outside his body, unbeknownst of his own existence.

 With a jerk of his form, Asra was hit with reality all over again, and sharpness of the realization seeped into his nerves, making him truly _feel_ that ache. He let out a soft cry. He felt corrupted, as if his mind no longer belonged to him, fearing his thoughts were another’s, or completely to be criticized all together. And of all the things that were in occurrence with such a terrifying dread, simultaneously;

 

The music remained.

 

What had him lost to begin with?

           

How long was he gone?

 

And how did he return?

 

His vision was blurry.

 

Asra rubbed his eyes, blinking, hoping that would aid to what would be added into his panic. Was he becoming blind? Oh gods, what was he feeling? What was he seeing? The ache was clawing at him; the ache of being unfulfilled, empty, and longing.

           

_Witch._

 Asra nearly screamed.

 

 Did he… think that? The magi never referred to himself as such – though the voice was in his own, sounding venomous as possible. And he never sounded so chilling.

 

_Surrender yourself to me._

 

Could he respond? He was far too anxious to even reward the terror with an answer. Asra chewed at his lip, closing his eyes. All a dream, he proposed to himself, not addressing the voice; all a dream. It was a tactic he attempted to calm himself with.

 

 Silence.

 

 Was that all his effort had to come to?

 

           

 

           

           

           

           

           

  _Engulfed by your emptiness, you wither to ash._

Asra nearly cried out again.

 

And the music returned.

           

 His eyes opened and met with something far from what he expected.

 

           

His apprentice.

 

“I… I don’t understand this, h-how are you here—” Asra’s voice croaked out.

 

“Shhh…” He hushed him, his finger pressed against the magi’s lips. “…you’ve been under so much stress. Let me dance for you, my beloved.”

 

_Beloved?_

 

“But what about I-Ilya and—” Said the magi again, once more hushed by his apprentice.

 

He watched the movement of his hips, rolling, moving with the melody and rhythm of the music. He shimmied, watching his belly flex and protrude in an alluring manner. Asra took a deep breath, spellbound. He knew he was Ilya’s – yet, there he was, enchanting him so before his eyes. Right there. All his. He felt his face burn, wanting to take him there. Oh, how his apprentice teased him so, with his long, thick, curly tresses. Oh, how he fantasized about those same curls entangled within his fingers, and even bouncing off of him as he would enter him so deeply, and ardently. Oh, how he wished to taste the caramel of his skin, and make him feel a pleasure unlike ever before.

 

His apprentice grinned at him mischievously.

 

“Asra, take me, make me yours~” He crooned, beckoning him with a finger.

 

Asra’s eyes traced his curvaceous form, growing hot. Could this be the very thing that could make him whole? When bodies joined, they could become something sublime. He took no time to hesitate. The young magi acted upon impulse and fed into his desires, letting his hand reach out to touch his apprentice.

 

And he was gone.

 

Asra’s eyes widened.

 

_Again?_

 

The music proceeded, though much clearer now, ringing through his ears with them same seductive tone. He ran his fingers through his ashen tresses, feeling a bit of sweat as he did.

 

_Unethical of you to touch another’s._

 

This time Asra fell back into his covers, clutching at his pendant, more aware of what was taking place, even though his mind still felt conquered by another force. He glanced around, heatedly, rubbing at the aquamarine hanging from his golden chain. He was chanting, praying, hoping it would all go away. Just go away. Make these infernal voices, music, and images, all just leave him be. The night could not be anymore cruel to him. Asra’s eyes were shut again, imagining a protective white light defending him from all in which attacked him, played him with.

_Be roused to the truth, little magi._

This time, the voice was not his.

 

Oh no.

 

Oh no.

 

_Oh no._

 

He knew who this voice held claim to.

 

His eyes shot open, almost fainting at the sight. There knelt, at the edge of his tent where once his apprentice stood to dance for him, the one and only truth to the darkness in which polluted his spirit; Lucio. He sat there with a wicked grin hanging upon his features. Asra was trembling, clutching at his pendant. Just as he remembered… the silvery, sultry eyes; his hair, silky, flaxen and neatly slicked back, skin milky and fresh… still as youthful looking as ever – no distinct difference after _death_. And of course, who could forget that devilish smile, that dastardly energy that could bring the strongest gladiator to his knees. He licked his dry lips, desperate for his prayers to be answered. His nightmare was before him. Asra was staring into the very eyes of death himself, watching as he sat there, jeeringly. 

 

Lucio.

 

The Count.

 

The supposed to have been _late_ Count.

 

Why was he here?

 

And _how?_

 

Asra was at a complete loss for words. Lucio let out a throaty, derisive chuckle. His golden prosthetic hand reached out to Asra, amused by his expression and reaction. He wiggled his fingers at him, making the younger man jump. This made the Count roar with unrestrained laughter, raising a brow to him – what would he do? Asra’s own brows knitted together in frustration, tapping into the deeper memories and emotions the count made him feel in the past. He recalled times when he was at the palace, helping Julian research a cure for the plague. He interacted with him quite a bit, most often, it was not pleasant. He remembered him being fiercely jealous of his and Julian’s past physical relationship during the time of research. Even after contracting the plague, Lucio made attempts at him, to try and seduce him, to which he resisted, knowing the kind of person he is. He also was aware of his condition and held no desire to become ill as well.

 

“Your eyes do not deceive you, witch.” His voice practically dripped with malice. “Go ahead, touch me.”

 

Asra, hesitant this time, let his hand reach out to the golden prosthetic one, fingers brushing against the coolness of the metal. A shiver could only run down his spine at the sensation. Oh gods, how real he was, here in the form of flesh and blood. He moved away out of out of terror, eyes wide, heart pounding in his chest cavity. Ghastly, he was, a living phantom come to seek out… what exactly? That was the key question in asking. Lucio smirked, pleased with his reactions; he found them quite… precious. Asra could only swallow thickly at the handsome yet chilling man before him, thinking on how to escape him while he was stuck here.

 

“Why are you here? What do you want from me?” His eyes were grim, filled with a form of disdain for the blonde.

 

“Is that not obvious to you, pet?” He crooned, letting his golden prosthetic hand reach out to Asra’s cheek.

 

_Pet._

 

Oh, how he loathed that name.

 

The one in which Lucio would use flirtatiously toward him at the palace.

 

Asra flinched, moving away from him. Lucio, surprisingly, kept his calm. And that was the scariest piece of the entire puzzle.

 

“Don’t touch me.”

 

“Oh?”

 

Asra clicked his tongue, his frustration much more prominent in his emotions above all things. Lucio closed his eyes for a moment, taking a breath, before opening his eyes again, set on his little sun-kissed prize. There he went, locking his gaze on the magi’s, silver melting into amethyst. It was intimidating, extremely – Asra had every chance he could to run, to use his magic, to defend himself. Resistance was only left an idea when trapped under his binding gaze. In the next moment, he could feel some kind of hot sensation within him, causing Asra to let out a gentle groan. He nearly lost it, cheeks flushing immediately.

 

“T-that wasn’t my doing! I told you not to touch me!”

 

“ I didn’t touch you.” Lucio narrowed his eyes.

 

Asra’s eyes were ripped away from his unsettling, though intensely, provoking gaze. He could feel sensations within him, similar to how he’d feel during sex. Oh, how he has not been touched in so long. Could that not ease the emptiness and loss he felt within? He fought to suppress the next groan within him. His body, in the clutches of Lucio, the dark count himself… was it truly the wisest idea for one to have? Absolutely not. He was cursing himself each moment the more and more he was considering it. He despised this man greatly for all he had done – just what was he thinking?! This was absurdity at its most high! He was the biggest fool to be! He would not blame anyone to be the laughing stock of Vesuvia. Yet, the fulfillment, it was his to have in the end, and how could he pass it up even with his worst enemy? He was dangerous, by far, and no amount of evil could ever even surpass Lucio’s. Yet, he deemed it worth it, consequences be damned. Asra fell back onto his covers, clutching at them in torment. He was looking to the count, with a needy expression, all written with his immediate repent. What kind of magic was he using upon him? And why did it feel so good? Every moment a jolt of pleasure ran through him due to the sensations, it was a moment that led him astray from the ache. He watched his chest rise and fall with eagerness, legs slowly opening in invitation. Just this night, he needed.

 

Just this night of sinful misfortune.

 

Just this night.

 

Let his body take him far, far away from the delusions of yesterday. Let him use his body in exchange for fleeting gratification, and he would soon feel whole again. His touch was bound to hold some significance over his mind, was it not to?

 

“My, my, my, what kind of ideas are playing in your mind, boy?” Lucio tilted his head at him, just as eager to have his fill.

 

Asra was silent at his taunt.

 

“Are you letting me touch you~?” purred the Count.

 

“Count,” pleaded Asra, “I invite my body to become yours, all to forget the feelings I’ve been feeling all too well, replacing it with the gratification I long for. Yet let this not distract you from the truth; I still find you immensely revolting.”

 

“Of course, the feeling is mutual,” scoffed Lucio, “but I shall gift your body with immeasurable bliss, my pet. I can offer no less.”

 

Asra observed as Lucio crawled over to him, cupping his cheeks with both hands. His face was brought to the older man’s, lips mashed against each other’s. His kiss felt so rough, so passionate and wild, as if he were being set ablaze by the fires of his desire. Like a burning thing he felt, he embraced it, hesitantly gripping at his white button up. Lucio tilted his head, deepening the kiss, letting his warm tongue ravage the other’s mouth. Asra could not deny the enjoyment out of that – he moaned, feeling the rise between his legs grow further troublesome, feeling the tightness of his trousers. Asra bit at his bottom lip, feeling a gentle groan come from the other. His eyes were closed as Lucio rubbed his tongue against Asra’s, earning pleased sounds from the smaller individual whom clung to his body. A fierce dominance overtook the count, thus making him pin the magi to the bed covers with ease.

The kiss was broken and a string of saliva remained between them. Lucio wiped it off of both of their mouths, taking his kisses down his golden neck. Sucking, sweet sucking – love bites, a favorite of his, were left, largely about in trails on his neck and throat. The small gasps Asra made, his toes curling, was more than the count could take. The bruises quickly became a reddish-purple color, as if his throat and neck suffered severe abuse. Their hips were moving in sync against each other, arousing one another more from the friction by the moment. Asra could not bear it anymore, tugging at Lucio’s dress shirt in need. He could feel Lucio, painstakingly gradual, strip him of his garments. He even undressed himself as well. Lucio then returned catering to Asra’s desires, hands exploring his lean form, the feeling of the golden metal cold against the warmth of his flesh – sending shivers through him of delight. He massaged at his chest, then down his abdomen, then up and down his sides, resting at his hips. Asra eyed the other’s shaft, secretly admiring it, as well as craving it. Lucio chuckled, taking notice of the way he lustfully looked to him, taking pleasure in the matter.

 

“Do you want this in you, Asra? Do you want this to enter you nice and slow, riding out my generous endowment?” He leaned down, whispering in a husky tone, “Can you begin to imagine the orgasm burning to be released, as I go in, and out, and in, and out, all as I watch you become undone?”

 

Asra’s erection was more than obvious at this point. His face was a blushing mess. He was desperate, and they both knew so, so why was this becoming a game to him suddenly? Or was it one the entire time? The Count was one to tease. He pulled away from Asra’s face, kneeling up again as Asra was lowered unto his knees. Asra had accepted his length into his mouth, hallowing his cheeks out as the older man entered inside. A low, deep groan emitted from him, and the magi could only do the same. With slow thrusts, his mouth instantly succumbed to the size. Asra sucked, bobbing his head, letting his tongue run along from the tip, along the veins of the shaft, and go back to rubbing the head.

Lucio grunted, feeling his arousal thicken the more Asra used his mouth on him. He thrust harder into his mouth, faster, at some points even sloppier than before; ready to release. His throat expanded as he entered deeper, making the younger man gag a bit, gripping at the pale man’s hips. Pre cum leaked into his mouth as he was edging toward his orgasm. This was complete torture for the magi, who only wished that Lucio could spare him this once. In response to feeling the beginning stages of his slickness, Asra licked him up, removing himself from his member, and wiping his mouth. He ignored the slight aching in his jaw, sitting back, length sprung free, throbbing, needing. Lucio obliged to his silent cry for him, yet there were games still having to been played. He grasped his hardness, pumping slow and fast, thumb brushing over the tip. Asra threw his head back, the heat in his belly rising.

 

“So submissive to my touch~ I’d like to hear you beg for it.”  

           

“A-absolutely n-not—” gasped Asra in between needy whimpers.

“Oh?” hummed Lucio, tone becoming much more ominous, “I suppose I must use another way to drag it out of you. Perhaps… I’ll make you beg for me to take you completely.”

           

How wicked he was.

 

 He trailed kisses and bites down his inner thighs, going near and then pulling away to see his changing, flushed expressions. He found it delicious. Lucio enveloped Asra’s member with his lips, gently sucking at the tip before working his way down, bringing him into his mouth further. He let his teeth graze the shaft, tongue massaging at the veins. He was swollen, extremely, for the devilish man. Asra whined and whimpered, swearing he never felt so good before. He felt the other massage his thighs, clutching at them, fingers slightly digging into the soft, golden flesh. His moans became louder, and he was edging nearer to his orgasm. The way he touched him, kissed him – he felt extraordinary in those moments. He faltered ‘neath the devil.

 

And he gave himself to him.

 

He gave himself to him.

 

“Please…” broke Asra, unable to suppress his begs, “…t-take me, completely…”

 

The Count resembled the God of Chaos, with his sinister glare. The crimson pooled around his silver, inviting him into a world of darkness. And like a jackal, about to feast upon its dinner, he proceeded with attack. Lucio pulled away from his member, going to work at his neck again. With slick arousal, he entered the smaller man with ease, causing a loud gasp from the other. Lucio, too, was taken aback by the grand feeling of having him. Lucio’s chest pressed against Asra’s back, sticky with sweat.

           

Thrust.

           

Thrust.

 

Thrust.

 

Thrust.

 

Asra felt his hands on his hips, going at different speeds. Quick and hard. Slow and steady. Sloppy and out of pace. Then back again to the beginning. The pattern was recognizable, though the attention was placed on the ecstasy he reached upon each bump and roll of the other’s hips. Lucio felt Asra’s walls expanding further, groaning, letting a deep growl rip from his throat as he went deeper into him. Alas, he was inside of him, taking him, temporarily filling him for what he wished, and what Lucio could not oblige to more. Slow and steady, then quick and hard again – Lucio altered his game. Asra was bouncing on him, his body threatening to release from sweetness of the buildup.

           

Thrust.

 

Thrust.

 

Thrust.

 

Thrust.

 

“C-count—!” cried the magi as Lucio grasped his length, pumping once again, at a pace differing from the other he went at.

 

“ _Fuck_ —” growled Lucio from the tension, licking the shell of his ear, “I can only wonder the limits of orgasm of a witch’s body—”

          

Asra had said nothing, moans controlling his speech.

           

“Never have I entered through the temple doors of something so… delicate~” purred the Count, his golden prosthetic fingers dragging at his abdomen.

 

_Thrust._

Climax.

 

 Asra’s back arched at the instant flooding of long lost sensation; Lucio’s final thrusts were sloppier and harder than ever before. He found the magi’s sweet spot. He peppered hot kisses on his neck, groaning into his ear, whispering dark and tempting things in between. And Asra had screamed out into the heavens – his voice hoarse, grateful to be taken from the cruel reality of his true feelings. For the time Lucio had his body, his thoughts were amongst the clouds, the stars even, unable to even remember a moment’s sadness of his inner thoughts. He had released, slickness dripping into Lucio’s hand, fingers becoming coated. Asra let out a whine, feeling him release in sync inside of him. There, they lay, sweating, panting, in nocturne’s midst. Asra had let out a shudder as Lucio slipped out of him, immediately cocooning himself in his covers, shame befalling him instantly after short-lived pleasure left him.

 In brief observation, he noticed Asra revert back into his previous state. Lucio glanced away, reaching to gather his clothes, which were spread about unkempt with Asra’s. He decided to pick out Asra’s, tossing them over to him, eyes returning to the magi with interest. Asra perked up a bit upon seeing the clothes fall in front of him, giving Lucio a questioning look. The Count sighed, getting up from where he knelt. With a turn, he exited from the tent and to the oasis within the darkness. The fire outside of his tent was the only thing that kept him visible from the dim glow. It looked as if Lucio was washing himself clean. Was that it? Was he going to just leave right after his bath? Reluctantly, he remained where he lay, observing the count rinse the sweat from his usually well kept slick back. Wait – why did it matter to him that he was leaving? He only needed Lucio for the intercourse; and he was detached, completely. Yet, he contemplated what he would be feeling aftermath of his leaving. He craved to maintain the intimacy he met with tonight, even with their opposing views, and their shared deep rooted distaste for one another.

 Asra rose from his covers with a change of heart in his plans. He sauntered out to meet with Lucio at the oasis, and bathe himself clean of the sweat and stickiness. His eyes met with Lucio’s deviant yet curious ones, as he joined him at his side. Lucio said nothing, continuing on with making sure every crevice of his being was reached. Asra’s hair blown back from the breeze, thus his stare became increasingly discomforting to the Count, who paused from what he was doing, and stood there, crossing his arms. Asra blinked and averted his gaze, face growing hot in humiliation. Lucio smirked at this, arms behind his back; the glow of the moon and stars above created a light formed halo around his fine, yellow tresses. He sunk into the water, holding himself.

           

“You came out here for a reason. I wonder what that could be.”

           

“I have another request from you.”

 

 “Oh? A needy little magi you are, never truly satisfied.”

 

The words were vicious, yet coated with enough honey to make it seemed as though it was only a jeer. Though Asra and he both knew that it was the truth; Asra, in whole, was a dissatisfied being. They stung at him, reminding him of his faults, and his cursed feelings.

           

“You’re absolutely right, I cannot deny your statement. But hear me out… I am leaving tomorrow, and I still feel that the intimacy was far too short-lived.”

 

“So what are you suggesting?” laughed the Count. “Perhaps you are implying another round? Did you have _that_ much fun?”

 

His tone, cruel and demeaning, surely made to break Asra’s spirits.

           

“Just stay with me for the night, or at least until dawn. The discontent I feel from feeling left empty remains with me in thought and in dream. And I need to maintain the bliss I felt before it completely fades and I have nothing left.” admitted Asra, eyes threatening tears.

 

“What am I returned with for this service? I mean, _if_ , I agree to the terms.”

           

“You get to have me to yourself again, though the next time, as I am defiled in exchange for final pleasure… take the last piece of my heart—” Asra was choking on his tears at this point. “A-and have my soul, and use it to your very advantage, and leave me no more than a shell to your disposal.”

           

Lucio’s eyes grew wide with interest.

 

“My, my, what a tempting gift indeed. I have no choice but to accept these terms..” His arms snaked around Asra’s hunched over form, raising him from the cool waters. “How bold your bargain strikes, my pet.”

 

Asra was silent, his heart aching further with each kiss the Count lay upon his burning skin. They trailed from his shoulders, up his neck, and his jaw, resting finally upon his lips, he soon then parted from his mouth, damp from tears. He convinced himself he needed this, needed _him_ , to use in his time of hurting. He held back a sob in the kiss and swallowed thickly when he was being pulled back to the tent.

That night, Asra was faced away from Lucio’s slumbering form. His eyes were red, puffy, cheeks stained with tears. He had confided in his greatest enemy and ached for his touch to comfort. What could be more pathetic? His body shuddered at his gentle, warm breath hitting the nape of his neck. He tried to push closer him, trying to appreciate the physical warmth of the other against him, all to fill what felt long lost inside. He let out a choked sob, covering his mouth as the tears flooded his cheeks. There, he gave himself to the devil, and he made sure the entirety of the cosmos could hear the cry of a broken individual during their passionate engagement. Asra would never forget the pact made with Lucio, the contract formed, his night of bliss.

 

And he reminded himself; he gave himself to him.

 

_“As I’ve said before, you are impossible to hate and impossible to love.”_

_“I feel mutually, Lucio.”_

He gave himself to him.

 

 

 


End file.
